Due to clamor among his fans to hear the true stories of how Gary Paulsen gained the intimate knowledge of wilderness survival he wrote about to such convincing effect in Hatchet and the other Brian's Saga novels, the author released Father Water, Mother Woods: Essays on Fishing and Hunting in the North Woods in the 1990s. It was well-received, but readers lobbied for more. They craved specifics about the incidents in Mr. Paulsen's life that directly inspired thirteen-year-old Brian Robeson's harrowing adventures in the Canadian bush, adventures that could easily have killed the boy before rescuers arrived. Thus Guts: The True Stories Behind Hatchet and the Brian Books was born, a memoir specifically of the events that started the author thinking about writing a novel featuring a kid forced by circumstances to survive in the wilderness, far from the comfort and protection of modern urbania. For readers who want the scoop on Hatchet, Guts has everything you could want...and more.
"The wilderness pulled at me—still does—in a way that at first baffled me and then became a wonder for me."
—Guts, P. 71
Gary Paulsen led a life of more variety than almost anyone, and volunteer paramedic in the Colorado boondocks was among his myriad occupations. As the only first responder close enough to react meaningfully in an emergency, Paulsen bore responsibility for the lives of many. This was where he learned about heart attacks, the most common malady of patients he was called to help. Paulsen could do nothing to save the majority of myocardial infarction victims, and one death that happened right in front of him haunted the author long after, coming through in Brian's experience with the pilot of his small plane who suffered a heart attack and died while their vehicle was airborne. As a paramedic and as an officer in the U.S. military, Paulsen also witnessed numerous plane crashes, some fatal but most not, and had a scare while on tour for his 1986 Newbery Honor book Dogsong when the engine of the small plane he was a passenger in sputtered and died. The pilot landed without any problem, but the helplessness of hanging 3,000 feet up in the air in a plane that had no engine would inform Brian's panicked response when the same thing happened to him with dire consequences. Another life-or-death situation involving a small plane saw an intrepid bush pilot flying into an insane winter storm in Alaska to rescue Paulsen and his sled dogs during the Iditarod. The incident leaves an indelible impression even as the scene it sets is downright comical. By the time Paulsen was honorably discharged from the military and had trained to earn his pilot's license, he was well on his way to knowing enough to write intelligently about Brian's plane crash.
Bizarre animal assaults play a pivotal role in Brian's Saga, from rampaging moose to hungry bears, from surly skunks to monstrous swarms of mosquitos. Paulsen relates anecdotes about his own encounters with these assailants and more, but the most memorable may be when a massive cow moose waylaid him on a stormy night in the Alaskan bush. The attack was unprovoked and nightmarishly prolonged, as attacks feel when blow after vicious blow is hurting us and there's nothing we can do to stop it. The moose had Paulsen facedown in the snow and would not relent from stomping on him, bloodying the helpless musher and cracking his bones. "She completely worked me over. I didn't count the kicks and stomps but there were dozens. She stopped after a bit and I peeked at her, outlined against the snow, and she was staring at me, listening for my breath, and when at last I could hold it no longer and had to breathe again she heard it and renewed the attack. I don't know how long she kept after me. It seemed hours, days. I lay as still as possible, trying to hide my breathing, but she kept coming back until I thought I was dead—and then she backed off. Thinking she was gone, I tried a small move, but she jumped me again. Finally I think she was convinced I was finished and she moved off into the forest." Sometimes all you can do when you're assaulted that way is curl up in a trembling little ball and hope to survive, and that's how Paulsen (and Brian) lived through their run-ins with lunatic moose. The only way to endure in a world that threatens your existence is to adapt and learn from its painful lessons, to not make serious mistakes twice. "The solution to facing all these dangers, a solution that came very rapidly to me and to Brian, is knowledge. It can come from anywhere; from reading, from listening to people or from personal experience. However it comes, the knowledge must be there." Accumulating wisdom is the way to fend off danger whether you're in the wilderness or the safety of suburbia, which presents its own perils. Learning to avoid pitfalls is a trait possessed by every survivor.
Brian's ability to stay alive in the bush hinged on fashioning functional hunting weapons with no one to teach him how, and Paulsen recounts his own experiences in this area. Crafting a usable bow and arrows from wood is hard work, and learning to hunt with them is more difficult still, but Paulsen and Brian each eventually did. The process requires attention to detail, and the author doesn't scrimp on explaining how to carve the wood and arrows just right. If the feathers aren't the proper shape and style, your arrows won't fly accurately. Once you make a kill, you have to clean and cook the animal, and that's at least as much work as carving handmade weapons. Paulsen relates his long, arduous journey after killing his first deer with a bow and arrow as a fifteen-year-old, dragging the dead buck that weighed more than him miles from the scene of the hunt to where he'd stashed his bicycle. It's hard to imagine how he biked four miles home while attempting to keep two hundred pounds of dead deer in balance, but Paulsen at that age was already adapting to the ways of nature, learning to be inconspicuous and predict what would happen next in the drama of the natural world around him. He knew it was essential to never stop growing and improving. "To learn, to be willing to learn how a thing works, to understand an animal in nature, or how to write a book or run a dog team or sail a boat, to always keep learning is truly wonderful." This from someone who was not a diligent student in school, but had a passion to learn from nature the grand truths of life that school teachers rarely address. Spending time in school does not always equate to learning.
Revolting food choices were part of life for Brian after his plane went down, but starvation pushed him to choke down edibles he wouldn't have wanted to look at in his previous life. Paulsen had high standards for the realism of Brian's Saga: "When I set out to write the Brian books I was concerned that everything that happened to Brian should be based on reality, or as near reality as fiction could be. I did not want him to do things that wouldn't or couldn't really happen in his situation. Consequently I decided to write only of things that had happened to me or things I purposely did to make certain they would work for Brian." This includes the gross experiment of eating raw turtle eggs, which didn't end well for Paulsen. His commitment to authenticity in Brian's Saga was admirable, and stems from the undoubtedly finest philosophical observation in Guts, made in an earlier chapter. "We have grown away from knowledge, away from knowing what something is really like, toward knowing only what somebody else says it is like. There seems to be a desire to ignore the truth in favor of drama." These words have so many practical applications, I hardly know where to begin. We outsource our religious, political, and social opinions to others who tell us how they think things are, not bothering to independently inform ourselves so we can challenge the pundits when they reason wrongly. Society has grown away from self-discovered knowledge and toward parroting the talking points of professional opinion givers, and that's not healthy. When we reject the nuance of reality in favor of black-and-white systemic ideology, we don't further education as Paulsen promotes it; we further ignorance, hampering our ability to recognize our errors of logic and reverse positions if the facts demand it. Gary Paulsen writes with uncompromising regard for truth, and that's why I love his work. Guts ends with a chapter on rudimentary cooking methods in the wild—how to heat water, make meat or fish stew, and cook using wood planks, a roasting spit, or a pot made from birch bark. It's important not to waste any part of the animals you hunt, because a next meal is never promised in the great outdoors. Paulsen concludes with an anecdote about the time he roasted buffalo meat for himself while employed as a movie production laborer, enjoying the fine meal under a starry night sky with a friend and reflecting on how it must have felt for early man to do the same every night. That started him thinking of writing a story about a modern-day kid having to survive under those conditions, and the rest, as they say, was history.
The wisdom of Guts isn't as enlightening or plentiful as that in Woodsong, an earlier Gary Paulsen memoir of wilderness life, and the stories aren't nearly as emotional, but it's a good book. I'd give it at least two and a half stars, and strongly consider the full three. Gary Paulsen created something unforgettable in his Brian's Saga books, and I have loved them. They changed me for the better, and that can't be said of most literature. We've never seen a writing talent quite like Gary Paulsen, and we are oh so lucky to have him.